


Lighting the Dragonfires

by baratron



Series: After the Crisis [1]
Category: Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death Fix, Fix-It, Genderless Character, Loyalty, Queer Friendly, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-22
Updated: 2013-03-22
Packaged: 2017-12-06 03:50:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/731157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/baratron/pseuds/baratron
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The fix-it fic which Martin Septim fans have been waiting for! :)</p><p>An alternative universe in which Emperor Martin Septim makes it to the Imperial City in time to light the Dragonfires <b>before</b> Mehrunes Dagon enters Mundus. Hooray - a happy ending with no tragic death! </p><p>But that's hardly the end of Martin's story...</p><p>In this story, the narrator Alix de Feu is genderless, so you can read this as het or slash, as you prefer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lighting the Dragonfires

**Author's Note:**

> Follows on from my Martin Septim/Alix de Feu series and my NaNoWriMo novel _Draconis_ , but diverges from them just before the ending of Oblivion. They are canon-compliant, complete with Martin's (utterly unnecessary) Noble Sacrifice. This is an alternative universe in which he _doesn't_ Tragically Die.

It was over. The Dragonfires were once again burning brightly, and Mehrunes Dagon was trapped in Oblivion along with the rest of his daedric horde. The Oblivion Gates in the Imperial City were closed forever, and reports coming in from neighbouring cities suggested that the same was true all across Cyrodiil.

I was in bed somewhere in the Imperial Palace. Emperor Martin Septim lay next to me, sound asleep and at peace. He was far paler than it should have been possible for a man with golden-brown skin to be, and his face was lined with fatigue – but he was warm, breathing, _alive_. The Amulet of Kings hung round his neck and nestled against his bare chest. I watched the gemstone rise as he inhaled and fall when he exhaled, grateful for the additional proof of life. It had been close, there, at the end.

* * *

I woke from possibly the worst nightmare I'd ever had to find Martin staring at me. His blue eyes were wide, pupils large in the dim light of the candle he'd lit, and he looked very scared. “Alix? Are you all right?” he asked, as if afraid of the answer. 

I looked at him, and burst into tears. 

Martin reached for me and pulled me into his arms, letting my head drop onto his shoulder as he held me tightly. His right hand dug into my hair, combing through the red waves, stroking the soft skin on the back of my neck. “Love,” he said, a tremor in his voice. “I need to know what _exactly_ you dreamt about.”

I sobbed into his nightshirt. “You!” I mumbled, barely able to manage speech. “You died.”

“Please, Alix. _How_ did I die? It's important.”

“We got to the Imperial City. You... You went straight to the White-Gold Tower to speak to Chancellor Ocato. He declared you to be Emperor and started to say that the Elder Council should arrange your coronation as quickly as possible, but then a messenger ran in to say that Oblivion Gates had opened and daedra were already in the city...” I trailed off, clinging to my lover like a limpet as I cried.

“Go on,” he urged, the grimmest expression on his face.

“We went to the Temple of the One. Dagon was there. It was too late to light the Dragonfires. He ripped the roof off the temple to try to crush you. You...” I took a breath and swallowed the bile that was rising up my throat. “You called out to Akatosh for help, smashed the Amulet of Kings, and...”

“Transformed into a great golden dragon, cast Dagon back into Oblivion, then died,” Martin finished. Now it was my turn to stare at him. “You dreamt it too. The exact same thing. It must be a true prophecy – or at least a warning. _Shit_.”

I was blinking rapidly, tears still dripping from my eyes, and my brain was scarcely functioning. Martin, at least, had a lot more practice in waking up from nightmares. He cuddled me once more, squeezing tightly, planting a kiss on my forehead, then slid out from under me. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed, stood up, and began to pace up and down the room. I knew he was desperately trying to work out what to do.

After a few minutes, he spoke again. “Alix? What _time_ was it when we arrived in the Imperial City?”

I had to think. “Afternoon. The sun was still high in the sky, but it was... It was past lunchtime, since the market stalls that sell food were starting to pack up.”

“And what time was it when we reached the Temple of the One?”

“Early evening.” I was certain of that. “The sun was starting to set, and it was low on the horizon as we looked at the Oblivion Gate. Perhaps 4 o'clock?” Days were short in the month of Evening Star. 

“Okay.” Martin nodded, decisively. “Get yourself ready. I'm going to wake Jauffre and Baurus. If we leave in the next hour, and if our mages all cast Fortify Speed spells on the horses, we can be at the Imperial City by noon.”

I tried to protest. “But love, you've barely slept...”

He snapped back at me. “You saw it _too_! If I sleep, I die. I'm not going to let that happen if there's any alternative. Get dressed! Get your weapons. We have to go!”

* * *

We left while it was still dark, and rode in silence. It was a long way from Cloud Ruler Temple to the Imperial City, the sort of journey that would normally be broken overnight. But we had barely enough men to keep Martin safe while he slept in a tent, and we knew that time was of the essence. 

All of our horses were fortified with the highest quality Speed and Stamina spells that we could manage. Martin rode in the centre of our pack, dressed in the armour he'd worn for the Battle of Bruma. He'd refused to wear the Emperor's robes, declaring that they did not have enough protection if we were to find ourselves in battle. Instead, they were slung in a pack on the back of his sturdy bay horse. Jauffre and I flanked him: Jauffre on his chestnut horse and me on Barbara, the paint horse that I'd inherited from Prior Maborel, all those months ago. Captain Steffan rode immediately in front of Martin, Baurus rode immediately behind, and all of the other Blade cavalry surrounded us. The infantry marched behind us, also fortified with Speed and Stamina spells and armed with as many potions as they could carry to swallow on the way. Our mages rode in a cart behind them, piled high with potions, safeguarding their magicka for emergency repairs.

Despite sticking strictly to the main roads, we passed several Oblivion Gates along the way. The first was guarded by a mere handful of daedra, which allowed us to ride rapidly onwards, leaving our foot soldiers and mages to deal with them. But word must have been passed back to Mehrunes Dagon: the second, coming shortly after sunrise, was a full-scale roadblock. The bandits who usually inhabited the Ayleid ruin of Sercen lay dead across the road, causing our horses to have to slow down to step carefully over them. Then we were rushed by daedra – the crocodilian Daedroths, the lizard-like Clannfear, Flame Atronachs, Frost Atronachs. The Blades raised their weapons, experts at fighting from horseback. I stood up in my saddle, throwing Fireballs into the swarming crowd of daedra – and to my left, I saw Martin do the same with Frost Bolts.

We won the battle without any serious injuries, of course. The Blades were highly trained soldiers, and by now we were all well educated in the ways of daedric combat. But we lost time, too much time. Some of our horses were injured, and had to be left with their riders to await the mages in their carriage. The pack of thirty horses surrounding Martin was reduced to twenty-four, and I was worried. Why had there only been minor daedra at that Gate? They were Dagon's equivalent of aggressive cattle, none of them particularly intelligent, knowing only how to block our path. Where were the Xivilai and Dremora? I muttered my fears to Martin and Jauffre, who agreed. 

We pressed onwards, west around the Ring Road. The White-Gold Tower was in sight, seeming tantalisingly close; but I knew it was an illusion. Oh, sure, a person _could_ scramble down the steep banks to the edge of Lake Rumare, swim across the lake dodging the slaughterfish, then stagger back up the steep hills on City Isle, wind around to the single large gate and enter the Imperial City that way – but it would frankly take a lot more energy and effort than to ride on the road. Especially as we knew we were expecting a battle upon arrival. I knew that Martin could swim well enough, but in heavy armour? I supposed I could cast a Water Walking spell on him, but I wasn't sure that I had the magicka to do it for everyone. 

Further west, to the point where the Ring Road swung south, and... A third Oblivion Gate, even more serious than the last. A herd of Daedroths, the expendable toothy cattle, blocking the road; behind them, Storm Atronachs and Spider Daedra. Martin cast Shock Shield on both himself and his horse. It was a good idea, and I joined him in protecting as many steeds as we could reach. He gulped down a magicka potion, and carried on even as the Daedroths bashed into the sides of our mounts and tried to force our tight formation apart. Huge mouths with razor-sharp teeth – gods, if you were a lover of animals, you didn't want to see what was happening to the poor horses on the outside of the pack. The Blades battled to save their mounts, but there were too many powerful jaws, too many large teeth. 

Martin and I were unable to fight, trapped in the centre, reduced to casting healing spells. We did our best for what must have been a quarter of an hour or more, but it was a losing battle. We loved our horses, they were well-trained, but pouring our magicka into trying to save their lives was a waste. Martin swallowed a second magicka potion, and tossed the bottle over his shoulder. His eyes met mine, and he nodded. 

“Blades,” he called, his voice magically augmented. “Break formation.”

The riders in front of us peeled off to the sides, allowing us to reach the front of the pack. It was a dangerous place for the Emperor to be, but it was the only way that our magic could reach the Storm Atronachs. They were not enemies that you wanted to fight with a sword – every time you hit them, their electrical shock would travel up the metal and into your own body. I'd seen men in armour die from the burns alone. As mages, Martin and I could protect ourselves from the worst of it. 

Martin chanted a spell to fortify his magicka reserves, then began hurling ferocious Ice Storms into the crowd of Atronachs. As he stood up in his saddle, shouting, I was paralysed for a moment by his beauty. Blue eyes blazed in the heat of battle, and his anger was terrible to behold. The mid-morning sun hit his gleaming armour, reflecting off it like the vengeance of the gods. He looked like a hero of legend. Were I not surrounded by enemies, I could have watched him all day... Enemies. Right. I shook myself, focused my magicka within, and aimed an Enemies Explode spell right into the centre-most Atronach. The violent explosion took out half of them. 

Now the Blades could get through to the Spider Daedra behind them. While Martin and I continued to use magical attacks on the Atronachs, Blades aimed bows and arrows at the horrible spider women and the “babies” they dropped. It was the spiderlings that were the real danger, since their bites would hit you with paralysing poison. Their wicked fangs could penetrate even heavy armour, since they typically went for feet or the backs of legs, relatively unprotected areas. 

I don't know for how long we fought, trying to force ourselves through the waves of daedra to the other side. All I know is that I swallowed nine magicka potions and two stamina potions, and was going to have the worst potion hangover _imaginable_ come the morning. In the end, five of us broke their ranks with our horses: Captain Steffan, Baurus, Jauffre, Martin, and myself. I reinforced the Fortify Speed spell on everyone's mount, and we rode south as fast as our poor steeds' legs could carry us. The rest of the Blades would catch up when they could. 

There were no more Oblivion Gates on the road, which made us all highly suspicious. Surely Dagon hadn't reached the end of his resources already? No... it was obvious that he was saving the worst battle until last. The vision that Martin and I had shared made it clear that more Oblivion Gates would open in the Imperial City itself.

* * *

It was noon, or close to it, when we crossed the long Talos Bridge and reached the gates to the Imperial City. I made to dismount and leave Barbara in the Chestnut Handy stables as usual, but Martin remained on horseback. “Open the gates,” he said to the Imperial Guards outside.

One of them, seeing only an arrogant rich man with bodyguards, started to argue, saying “Sir, you cannot take your horses into the Imperial City. It's the law.” The other was staring at Martin with his mouth open. Eyes wide, he took in Martin's appearance: his face, so similar to that of his father; his golden armour; the Blades at his side; the Amulet of Kings around his neck. Were he not wearing cumbersome steel armour, he might have dropped to his knees. Instead, he took off his helmet and bowed his head. “Sire?” he asked, his voice cracking. 

“Yes,” said Martin, gently. “I am Martin Septim. Please let me into my City.”

The first Imperial Guard stared at the second, then at Martin. His eyes widened too, noticing the Blades' armour and the Amulet, and he gulped. “My... my lord? Please forgive me, I didn't recognise you.” He started to shake.

Martin spoke even more gently, to reassure him. Were he still a priest, he might have touched the man's shoulder. “That's quite all right. After all, this is the first time I've come to the Imperial City in this guise.”

The second Guard seemed overwhelmed with emotion. “Sire, we must inform Chancellor Ocato. He has been anxiously awaiting your arrival. We will take you straight to the Imperial Palace!”

Martin shook his head. “No, my friend. There is no time. Tell Chancellor Ocato to meet me in the Temple of the One. Any minute now, Oblivion Gates are going to open within the city. I must light the Dragonfires immediately.”

Both Guards looked horrified; gobsmacked, even. Stammering, the first Guard said, “Oblivion Gates? Inside the city? But... but how should we protect the people?”

“Follow me. Gather as many of your comrades as possible. It is _me_ that the Daedric Prince wants.” How could Martin sound so utterly calm? Perhaps that vision of his own death had fortified him, as if everything he did that was different to the dream would ensure his safety. 

The Guards opened the City gates, both of them, wide. Martin rode in through the gates on his bay horse. The rest of us followed on foot, abandoning our mounts to the astonished orc woman who ran the stables.

* * *

Martin didn't need his horse. It was barely any distance at all from the Talos Plaza district to the Temple of the One. But I knew that he was choreographing the scene for maximum impact, to ensure that everyone who saw him knew who he was. Already people were gathering, pointing, running out of shops, falling to their knees in front of him. 

“Citizens,” Martin called out. “I am Martin Septim. I have come to light the Dragonfires and drive the daedra out of Tamriel. Mehrunes Dagon wants to prevent that from happening. Any moment now, there will be a battle. If you cannot fight, please get indoors for your own safety.”

It was amazing. People were _listening_ to him, enthralled, and carefully moving themselves out of the way. I presumed he must be using his Voice of the Emperor. Imperial Guards were flocking to us, surrounding Martin and his horse with cover in addition to that provided by Steffan, Baurus, Jauffre and myself. Almost unconsciously, we had moved into the same point formation that we had used while riding: Steffan in front, Baurus behind, Jauffre on Martin's left side, me on his right. The familiar arrangement made us feel safer.

Though not for long. No sooner had we crossed from the Talos Plaza district to the Temple district than the first Oblivion Gate opened, followed in quick succession by two more. The first was immediately in front of us blocking our way, the second in front of the entrance to the Temple of the One, the third on the other side to prevent us from going the long way around. Daedra rushed out of them: this time, the sentient, humanoid Xivilai and Dremora that I'd been dreading. I heard Baurus swear, echoing my own thoughts.

Martin finally dismounted his horse, and handed the reins to a surprised Imperial Guard. “We must move quickly,” he said. “Delay is dangerous.” He cast Shock Shield on himself, and unsheathed his sword. Speaking to the Imperial Guards, he yelled “We must get to the Temple! Drive them back!”

We began to run, Martin still surrounded by his Blades. We ran with our backs to the Emperor, and our weapons facing his enemies. I turned, cut, sliced, _carved_ my way through the daedra, too afraid to use my fire spells in case they hit a Xivilai. Martin and I both knew from very bitter past experience how magical attacks would only feed their magicka reserves, giving them more fuel to hurt us. Dremora were in front of us, screaming “Kneel, mortals! Shatter, weaklings! For Lord Dagon!”. We pushed on through them as best we could, taking hits that were meant for our Emperor, knowing that our own survival mattered nothing if the Dragonfires remained unlit when the Prince arrived. 

Somehow we made it to the door of the Temple. Martin pricked his fingers with his blade and drew several Daedric runes in his own blood on the threshold. As we stared at him, he explained, “That will keep them out for a while. Enough time to do what I have to do.” I was shocked – I thought as a priest of Akatosh he would be beyond using Daedric magic, but was it really any different from how he'd used his old knowledge to translate the _Mysterium Xarxes_? I couldn't think about it then. We had to keep him safe. 

Blood was running down Baurus's head and arm, and he slumped against the wall, katana still in one strong hand. Jauffre was limping, really too elderly to manage a dash across cobblestoned streets in heavy Blades armour, but still wielding his weapon. Steffan and I were scorched with ash and burns, blades raised in case any daedra burst through Martin's defences. We watched, all four of us, as Martin walked up to the Dragonfires and raised the Amulet of Kings. None of us had ever thought past this point.

I can't tell you exactly what happened then. Though I was there, my mind is blurred by the magic that Martin cast. He was speaking out loud, praying to Akatosh for the power to light the Dragonfires, but I cannot remember the words he used. Jauffre had told me “Only the Emperors truly understand the meaning behind the rituals of coronation” and he was right. Whatever Martin was doing, he was guided by the Oversoul in the Amulet, performing the ritual as his predecessors told him. 

Then Martin's body started to glow. I could see... almost _inside_ him, in a metaphysical way. People had called him Dragonborn, said that the Septim Emperors had Dragon blood, but I'd never understood what it meant until that time. Beneath his skin, a golden dragon shifted and stretched its wings. Then it _shouted_. Fire burst out of its mouth, out of _his_ mouth, engulfing the Dragonfires in flame. His love of Akatosh and the Nine, the hatred he had for Mehrunes Dagon, all of it poured out of him in a stream of spells.

The glow died away. The illusion of the dragon faded. We were left with Martin the man, very human, wide-eyed and trembling. He fell to his hands and knees in exhaustion, and I rushed to his side. He seemed in shock, white as a sheet, blue eyes glassy. I touched his shoulder, anxiously, and watched intently as he struggled to lick his lips, managing only on the second attempt.

“Did we win?” he gasped.

I glanced around the Temple, taking in the burning Dragonfires, and gazed into his eyes. “Yes,” I said.

“Good,” muttered Martin, and collapsed unconscious.

* * *

There was a ferocious banging on the door of the Temple, and it flew open. A male Altmer in red robes burst in, which made me instantly ready a Fireball in my hand. I thought I'd met and destroyed all of the Camoran family, but perhaps this was another member of the Mythic Dawn, unrelated to them. Though none of the Blades seemed in the least bit perturbed, and he hadn't summoned Bound Armour over his robes... I let the flames die down to a puff of smoke.

“Where is Martin?” said the man, urgently. “I was told that he had arrived in the capital.”

Martin looked up from where he was lying, head in my lap. I'd been casting Respite spells on him, slowly, with the feeble amount of magicka I had conserved, and he was at least awake now, if not yet able to move. “I'm here.”

Jauffre started to walk towards the Altmer, hand raised in greeting. “Chancellor Ocato...”

But Ocato interrupted him. Staring around the Temple, seeing the blazing Dragonfires, he gasped in shock. “What have you _done_?” His tone was not friendly, and sounded rather peevish. 

Jauffre changed direction abruptly, abandoning Ocato to stand by Martin; who struggled to sit up, still incredibly fatigued and weighed down by his armour. I tried to help him, though I was in possibly the worst position to do so. Captain Steffan and Baurus were suddenly there, and despite their own injuries were able, together, to haul him onto his feet. Martin swayed and leaned on his Captain, but did not fall down. I stood up to join him, aware that something wasn't right, and that I could scarcely protect him from the floor. The four of us, loyal Blades all, surrounded and supported our Emperor as he glared at the High Chancellor. 

“I _believe_ I have defeated Mehrunes Dagon,” said Martin, a slight edge in his voice that those of us who knew him recognised as a warning. “Though none of us has yet made it outside to check. _Have_ the Oblivion Gates closed, and the daedra been cast back into Oblivion?”

“Well, yes, but...”

“Then the war is won, and Tamriel is once again at peace.” Martin spoke as though that settled the matter. 

“But you can't just _declare yourself_ Emperor!” exclaimed Ocato, either very brave, or very stupid. “There are formalities to be observed, hundreds – no, thousands! - of years of tradition.”

“I am aware of that,” Martin replied, mildly. “The Oversoul in the Amulet of Kings told me so. _Was_ there any other possible heir?”

“Well, no, but...”

“And were you going to accept my claim to the Imperial Throne, regardless?”

“Well, yes... the full Elder Council has already considered the matter of your claim to the Throne in detail.” The Altmer seemed very frustrated about something, though I could not think what. 

“So what's the problem?” Martin still sounded calm, but the edge was back in his voice. 

“You have crowned _yourself_ Emperor! Without waiting for the proper ceremonies!”

Martin sighed, and held up a hand. Counting on his fingers, he said, “One. I _haven't_ been crowned. Am I wearing a crown?” He patted his bare head with heavy irony. “Two. It was imperative to get the Dragonfires lit as quickly as possible to repel the Daedric invasion. Arranging a 'proper' ceremony would have taken too long. Three. I could never have performed the ritual without the blessing of Akatosh and the Nine. Do you think _you_ know better than the Divines?” His voice was getting louder, more forceful, and the undercurrent of anger more obvious. “Four. Alix and I shared a vision. Had I gone to the Imperial Palace first, the barriers between Mundus and Oblivion would have weakened to the point where Mehrunes Dagon could enter. I would have _died_. Surely an Emperor who 'crowns' himself is better than no Emperor at all?”

Ocato was looking progressively more shocked as Martin argued his points, and by the end was drained of colour. He blinked rapidly, opened his mouth as if to speak, closed it again, glanced at us as we held Martin upright, looked back at Martin, licked his lips, and eventually rubbed his head as if it hurt. I wondered whether he could see the golden dragon which lurked just under my lover's skin. “I... er... um... Your Highness.”

“ _Thank you_ , Chancellor Ocato,” said the Emperor. “Now. My loyal soldiers are injured, and I am in need of a bed. I also need to regain contact with the rest of my Blades. What do you suggest?”

“I, um...” Ocato was still entirely nonplussed. He blinked some more, trying to regain control of both the situation, and his own thoughts. “There is a squadron of the Imperial Legion outside. They can take you back to the Palace, uh, Sire?” He seemed to be having great trouble calling Martin by his proper title, even though he had surely _earned_ it.

“Did they fight in the battle?” 

“Ah, _no_ , Your Highness. We had just left the Palace when the daedra began to disappear.”

“Then I would rather that they march to the Ring Road and then northeast towards Bruma. We left rather a lot of daedric corpses behind, and possibly a few of our horses. The Storm Atronachs in particular will have collapsed to leave large rocks blocking the road. If we are to get aid to the other parts of Tamriel which have suffered so greatly, we need to have passable roads.”

“May I suggest that they take mages with them?” I piped up. “If our mages have not yet arrived, then find some at the Arcane University. Each of those daedric corpses will contain valuable alchemy ingredients, and it would be useful to obtain those before you bury them in a pit.” 

“Good idea, love,” remarked Martin, wrapping his arm around me. Did Ocato look even _more_ horrified?

“Um... as you command, Sire.”

“And someone find my horse. I don't think I can walk more than a few feet.”

* * *

We walked out of the Temple to great cheers from the amassed crowd. Some people had obviously been fighting in the battle, bloodied but not beaten; others had rushed out of their homes and businesses to greet their new Emperor. Martin managed to raise a hand in salute, before being lifted onto his horse. He rode slowly to the Palace... to _his_ Palace, wanting nothing more than a safe place to rest his head.

Some of the other Blades had arrived, and had already regained possession of the Emperor's private apartments from the Imperial Guards. They applauded our safe return with joy, but without much energy; they alone could appreciate how much the victory had cost. Jauffre found a spare bedroom and ushered Martin into it, since the poor soul was almost dead on his feet. Steffan and I helped him walk, unbuckled his armour, and tucked him into bed. He was asleep within seconds. I stripped off my own armour, thought about washing my face, decided I was too tired to care, and crawled in beside him. 

We slept until late evening, when we were woken by Baurus with his arm in a sling and trays of food. Martin and I spoke little while eating, too drained for conversation, but sat close together holding hands. Oleta came in to check on our health and pass Restoration magic through us, before leaving us to rest some more. Martin lay on his back and I snuggled into him, my head on his chest next to the Amulet of Kings. I played idly with his chest hair, inhaling his warm sweaty smell. He needed a bath, but so did I – and I was, quite frankly, too pleased that he'd survived to care what he smelled like. 

“Alix?” asked Martin, after a few minutes of lying companionably in silence. “Do you think it's going to be easier, now the war is over?”

Good question. “I don't know. I'll be glad to get back to my magical research, but I'm not sure that _you're_ going to find it much easier, being Emperor...” That sounded far too negative. “At least I'll only be at Arcane University, and I can come to see you whenever you want me to.”

Martin smiled, a genuine smile that reached his eyes, and hugged me tighter. “All the time, love,” he breathed. “All the time.” His eyelids closed and he fell back to sleep, still with that same smile upon his lips. I muttered a brief prayer of thanks to the Nine and closed my own eyes. Tomorrow's problems could wait for tomorrow.

**Author's Note:**

> Loosely inspired by a prompt in Skyrim Kink Meme, posted by anon on 2013-03-17 22:28 (UTC):  
> " _I often imagine what might have come to pass if the Mehrunes Dagon had been defeated without Martin's death, and he went on to become the next Emperor. Likely he'd be shouldered with a great many responsibilities and plenty of stress. Nearly overwhelmed, he'd likely turn to one of his few remaining friends, the one who closed the gate at Kvatch and brought about the end of the Oblivion Crisis, for comfort and support._
> 
>  _M/M or M/F is fine, bonus points if said Hero is not a suitable candidate for the Emperor to ever marry (is a commoner, criminal, or a man), and double bonus points for secretive love-making. ;D_ "
> 
> Though I'd been thinking along these lines anyway, completely independently - which just shows that great minds think alike ;) 
> 
> Thanks to mongoose_bite & Stellarwind for beta-reading and helpful comments.


End file.
